a bit! We love having her.”
By this time Carolyn would appear and the two children would begin their day. In spite of Carolyn’s excellence at school she was not very imaginative, and no matter what she suggested they do that day Alice Jones had a better idea. Carolyn was a little stunned by some of the suggestions, and for a few minutes would grow petulant and arrogant, but when she found that Alice could not be intimidated she gave way and enjoyed herself.
One morning they decided to take apart the radio-phonograph and talk to the little people inside the cabinet; another morning they made sandwiches and filled a Thermos jug with milk because they planned to leave on a trip to Cedar Rabbits, Iowa. Again, they composed a long cheerful letter to Sears, Roebuck & Co. in which Alice told how she murdered people. Some Saturdays they would stage extremely dramatic plays which went on for hours—with time out for other games—the leading part always being taken by Alice Jones because, at her grade school in the north end of the city, she was invariably the Snow Queen or the Good Fairy or some other personage of equal distinction. Carolyn, whose stage experience had been limited to a Thanksgiving skit in which she had been an onion, seldom objected and in fact had some difficulty keeping up with the plot.
Long before noon they were at the back door, wanting to know if it was not yet lunchtime, and when at last Harriet, or perhaps Mrs. Bridge, set up the breakfast-room table for them they would turn on the radio so that during lunch they might listen to the livestock reports, which Alice Jones found hilarious.
One day a fire truck went by the house and Alice, wagging her head in amazement, exclaimed, “There they go again! Who they going to burn down this time?” Dismayed by the wickedness of the firemen, she rolled her eyes and sighed and helped herself to more caramel pudding.
Mrs. Bridge, who was making up a grocery list, paused and smiled affectionately at both children, pleased that Carolyn was not conscious of the difference between them.
Alice and her father appeared every Saturday, and the two children, occasionally joined by Ruth—who more often spent the day lying on the porch swing—would play together as comfortably as on the first Saturday they met. The gardener never failed to ask Mrs. Bridge if Alice was a nuisance; Mrs. Bridge always smiled and assured him she was not.
For a month each summer the Bridges went to Colorado; they hired Jones for this month to water the grass after he had finished working for the neighbors, and so Alice amused herself on the familiar grounds and frequently asked her father how soon Corky would be back.
“Soon enough,” was his usual reply, but one day he paused, and as if considering the future, he told her, cryptically and a little sadly, “She liable to not come back, child.”
But at last the vacation ended and Carolyn returned, full of sunshine and sophistication.
“The mountains are awfully big,” she said primly, and, echoing her mother, “It was just grand.”
Then Alice Jones said, “You know what I got in this here pocket?”
Carolyn, reluctant to become once more the planet instead of the star, affected disdain.
“Who cares?” she announced, coolly turning away.
“A human gizzard,” murmured Alice with a mysterious expression, and before much longer Carolyn was convinced a summer in Kansas City would have been much more exciting than the mountains. She said as much to her mother, who replied a trifle brusquely, being harried at the moment, “Don’t be silly, dear.” And Mrs. Bridge was about to add that there must be other girls besides Alice to play with, but she did not say this; she hesitated, and said, “Corky, you know perfectly well you enjoyed Colorado.” Soon, she knew, the girls would drift apart. Time would take care of the situation.
8 • WHO CAN FIND THE CASPIAN SEA?
As time went on it became evident that Douglas was the most introspective of the three children, but aside from this—to his father’s disappointment—he appeared to be totally unremarkable. Mr. Bridge had hoped for a brilliant son, and though he had not yet given up that hope he was reluctantly adapting himself to the idea that his son was no prodigy. If Douglas amounted to anything in later life, he concluded, it would be less the result of brilliance than of conscientious effort.
Ruth, even more obviously, had no intention of relying on her brains; but Carolyn, as soon as she entered kindergarten, began to make a name for herself, and very shortly was known as the brightest child in the class. Furthermore she appeared to understand her own superiority and when, through some mischance, another child equaled or exceeded her for a moment, Carolyn would grow furiously vindictive, and was not above lying or cheating in order to regain her position at the head of the class, so that by the time she was in the third grade she was beginning to be envied and disliked by her classmates and carefully observed by her teachers. It was no surprise to anyone when she was allowed to skip the second half of the third grade.
The teacher of Carolyn’s fourth-grade class was a young lame woman named Bloch, who wore eye shadow and mascara and had one rather strange habit: every day she would call one of the children to her desk, give the child a comb, and then, bowing her head and shutting her eyes, she would instruct the child to take the pins out of her hair. Her hair was thick and greasy and hung down to her waist.
“Who can find the Caspian Sea?” she would murmur, and the child behind her would begin combing.
“Who knows where to find the Caspian Sea?” she would ask again, and without opening her eyes she would say, “Albert Crawford knows.”
Then the boy she had named would walk to the great green and blue map pulled down over the blackboard, and with the pointer he would locate the sea.
“Carefully, dear,” she would whisper if the comb snarled, but even then she seemed not displeased.
Although the children did not like this curious task they seldom thought of it once they were out of class. Carolyn, however, happened to mention at home that she had been chosen that morning. Mrs. Bridge was aghast; she had never heard of Miss Bloch’s habit. After questioning Carolyn and becoming convinced it was the truth, she resolved to telephone the school and report the incident to the principal, and yet, for some reason, she could not do it. Several times she picked up the telephone, shivering with disgust, but each time she put down the receiver with an expression of doubt and anxiety; she decided it would be better to visit the principal’s office, and yet this, too, was beyond her. She did not know why. In the end she told Carolyn that if she was ever again called upon to comb the teacher’s hair she was to refuse. Having done this, Mrs. Bridge told herself the teacher was no longer a threat and the entire affair, therefore, was closed. And so it was. Carolyn was not called upon for the remainder of the term, and the following September she had a different teacher. There were times later on when Mrs. Bridge wondered if she had done the right thing; she wondered if Miss Bloch was still calling children to comb her hair, and when Douglas entered fourth grade she waited anxiously to learn who his teacher would be. It was not Miss Bloch; if it had been she would have gone to the principal and demanded that something be done. But it was not, and Mrs. Bridge, who disliked making trouble for anyone, was greatly relieved, and found that she was no longer obliged to think about the matter.
9 • OF LADIES AND WOMEN
For semi-annual housecleaning Mrs. Bridge hired additional help. Carolyn answered the back door and reported to her mother, “The cleaning lady is here.”
“Oh,
